


Look Skyward to the Storm

by hypothetical_chainsaw



Series: Written on the Stave [2]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Closure, Gen, Post Part 3, Post-Canon Fix-It, Zelda Spellman Needs A Hug, and a cigarette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25527421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypothetical_chainsaw/pseuds/hypothetical_chainsaw
Summary: Being shot is Zelda's closest brush with death. She's avoided fully dealing with her emotions for weeks but now Zelda needs closure. It's time to pay Mary Wardwell a visit.
Relationships: Zelda Spellman & Mary Wardwell | Madam Satan | Lilith
Series: Written on the Stave [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1869505
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	Look Skyward to the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to @ZeldaByrdeBishop and @timelady_queenofhell for seeing me through writing this and getting me out of any literary holes I dug myself into.
> 
> Part of the Written on the Stave series

It was raining, Zelda could tell before she opened her eyes; the ache in her abdomen more persistent. She groaned, more in annoyance than pain, and pressed her palm against the protruding skin that the hastily completed surgery had left behind. The pressure helped somewhat.

There was something so much more permanent about mortal wounds. Marie had removed the stitches weeks ago and yet the scar still stood angry and inflamed in its place. As, over time, the searing pain had dissipated the ache had developed, intensifying with every cold spell and storm. She had, on several occasions, considered relocating the coven to sunnier climes. Today she was all in favour of it again.

Her sister's bed lay empty, sheets undisturbed, beside her. Zelda tilted the alarm clock towards her, squinting to read the analogue face with only the moon's glow through the curtains to light it. _3:26._ 3:26am and her sister had yet to return. _My my, her incubus is making up for lost time._

Despite the early hour, attempting to sleep again would be useless; her pain would abate only at the rain's end. Instead she slowly rose to sitting, accompanying the movement with a small snarl as her abdominals protested. Releasing a shaky exhale, she waited for her muscles to adjust; to cease clenching around a bullet that was no longer there.

Hecate save her, she'd have a few choice words for that school teacher when she got her hands on her.

The spasming pain finally ebbing to leave the familiar dull, damp-provoked throb, Zelda freed herself from her sheets, replacing them with a satin robe as she crossed to the window. Her skin tingled at the chill fabric. Condensation had misted the inner side of the pane but her view of the storm was still clear. If the rolling clouds were anything to go by, this wouldn't be over before sunrise.

"Hell below." She hissed, reaching into the robe pocket for her cigarettes.

Her fingers grasped the familiar metal case, pulling it free and flicking it open. Empty. She'd been going through a fair many more in recent months and Hilda was still not used to buying them at the increased frequency.

Soon there would be no point in acquainting her with the new demand anyway, not if the ghastly wedding mood board was anything to go by. It sat in the corner of the room, taunting her, all white and lace and _joy._

A bolt of lightning struck in the distance, illuminating the room and revealing a new addition to the board. Zelda couldn't contain the smirk that curved her lips at the sight. Hilda had opted for a mostly mortal aesthetic, so as not to scare Dr Cee's guests no doubt, but of course she wouldn't miss her chance to carry the Spellman family bridal dager. Her sister had envisioned her wedding on multiple occasions in her youth and, though the image of the groom - often played by Zelda in their enactments - changed each time, the family heirloom was ever present. The smirk fell at the memory of where the dagger was now; shrouded in the velvet of her own wedding dress. She would retrieve it before Hilda asked for it and leave it somewhere less likely to evoke her sister's pitying expression. But not tonight.

Tonight she needed something to numb the pain, physical and perhaps emotional. Securing the robe around her waist, Zelda padded from the room and down the stairs. Each creaked underfoot, the wood worn from a century's footfall, but she made little effort to quiet her steps. If the storm hadn't awoken Sabrina and Ambrose yet, the mortuary's familiar groans were unlikely to.

A flare of lightning cast the sitting room in a ghoulish glow as she reached the drinks trolley. Something was missing. She flicked on a small table lamp, surveying the tray's contents. Vermouth, bitters, Hilda's sickly sweet hard ciders, and there, where her whiskey should have been, a small note reading ' _Sorry, Auntie'_ in Ambrose's looping cursive.

Zelda flopped into her armchair in defeat, fingers automatically searching for the comfort of the lighter on the end table's edge. She paused when she found it; there was nothing to light. It's weight in her hand was suddenly unbearable and it was hurled across the room, splintering into pieces as it ricocheted off the far wall.

She toyed with the notion of pilfering one of Hilda's ciders, ultimately coming to the conclusion that she wasn't that desperate. Yet.

Instead, in a quick decision, she returned to the entryway, retrieving her coat and drawing it close about her. A pair of heels slipped hastily onto her feet and umbrella in hand, she was out the door before she could change her mind. It was time for a little payback.

It was time to pay Miss Wardwell a visit.

* * *

Whilst a drive would normally afford Zelda time with her thoughts, the rain against the hearse roof was cacophonous, damping out all ability for coherent thought. Instead she focused intently on seeing through the curtain of precipitation to the winding road in front. One hand lifting from the wheel, she tapped an incessant rhythm against her bottom lip in agitation, her desperation for a cigarette chafing her nerves.

The gas station towards the town would likely still be open. Should she wish she could easily pick up an overpriced packet of Marlboro Lights to quell the need. However she'd always found the frenetic energy that developed from nicotine withdrawal aided in whipping her magic into an arresting furor. It would be just the thing to greet the mortal with.

Exiting the main road for a tree-shielded, single-track lane, Zelda jabbed at the cassette player's play/pause button, turning the volume control as far as it would go. The tape started up exactly where she had left it; the crescendo of Puccini's Un Bel Di Vedremo. The speakers buzzed wildly at the volume required to carry Callas' soprano above the rain's din, distorting the sound. It vibrated through Zelda's every cell until her heart fell into sync with the accompanying strings' languid rhythm. She ignored the aria's sentiment, as she always did, instead allowing its intensity to fan the fire within her.

As the music's swell began to ease, she rewound it back to the same place once more. The timing was perfect; Callas' voice reaching its highest as the forest thinned and Mary's cabin came into view. She wound down her window, bracing against the rain. If Zelda couldn't sleep, neither would Mary.

Her foot fell heavy on the breaks, car jolting as the tires skittered and lost their grip on the waterlogged tarmac. She turned into the skid, the hearse a hurricane of screeching wheels and belting soprano as it came to a halt.

"Sweet hell." Zelda cursed on a low breath, peering through the storm for any signs of life from the cottage. The windows remained dark. There was no way any mortal could be that heavy a sleeper.

She killed the ignition and the music shut off sharply. The driver's side door groaned as it opened, and Zelda was out of it, umbrella in the air, moment's later. It stopped little of the rain; the storm now seemingly casting it horizontally directly into her face and it was quickly soaking through the wool of her coat, weighing her down. She ignored it, marching up the path towards the cottage's entrance.

Stopping a few paces before she reached the steps, her lips quirked as an altogether more devilish idea struck. Her hands flew up, palms outwards, lips uttering a harried incantation in the direction of the door.

" _No locks will hold_  
_as Notos brings_  
_the gales of the summer wind!"_

When the door remained firmly bolted, she began again, voice raising to lift above the spell's sudden wind whipping at her throat.

" _Bring forth Harpyai_  
_Aello, Podarge, Okypete_  
_Summon Anemoi Thuellai to-"_

The storm strengthened once more, umbrella flying from her grip, as her spell took effect, and yet the house remained untouched. A snarl distorting her features, the witch widened her stance, grounding her heels into the soft peat underfoot. Tears fell from her eyes, unbidden, as she fought to complete the conjuration. She clamped them closed, gritting her teeth.

" _Wage-"_

As quickly as they had started, the winds abruptly ceased. With nothing to brace against, Zelda stumbled forward, knees impacting painfully with the waterlogged lawn. Her eyes shot open, falling upon a pair of black stilettos. Dragging her gaze up, she was met with the school teacher's unmistakable figure standing tall above her. She held Zelda's umbrella aloft, it shielding her from the deluge considerably more effectively than it had done its owner.

"Wardwell." Zelda bit, hastening to her feet, mud streaking her shins.

Her hand was raised skyward, fingers pincering with a flourish in the mortal's direction. Mary's body jerked to attention, limbs outstretched and chin forced towards the umbrella's underside. Despite the spell holding her rigid, the brunette tutted, shaking her head as much as the confines of its grip would allow.

"I knew you were past worshiping me," Her eye's flicked down sharply to meet Zelda's, "but murder?" While the face was Mary Wardwell's, the cadence held a familiar complacency, "Should I be warning Hecate of what Spellman's do to their deities?"

_Lilith._

Zelda's hand fell limp at her side, the spell breaking. The demon hadn't returned since her request for sanctuary. She _was_ alive then... _good_.

"Whatever you're about to say, kindly rethink it." Zelda said abrasively before fixing her gaze over Lilith's shoulder to the house.

Though water clouded her vision, she could see only an iron spike affixed above the door as any kind of supernatural deterrent. It wouldn't have been enough to hold back a goblin, let alone a witch. There hadn't been a single peep from the house despite Zelda's addition to the storm's fury. Something else was at play.

" _Aperti ianuam."_ Zelda's brow creased as the door remained stubbornly closed.

"The mortal's under my protection. I've grown rather..fond of her."

Zelda raised a wry brow, "Really, Lilith. How...sentimental." she quipped, before realising the ramifications of this for her morning's plan. She cast a blasé hand in the air, feigning indifference, "But I have no intention of harming the dear, just...a friendly conversation about the adverse effects of shooting a witch."

The ache still pulsed through her abdomen, cutting from front to back in much the same way the bullet had. Her now rain soaked nightdress clung to the puckering flesh, chilling it painfully.

"Multiple millennia and I've never known a Spellman to seek revenge quietly."

"I might collect some insurance." Space on her shoe wall was limited, but she would find a spot.

Zelda reached into her coat pocket and sighed when she was met with only her empty cigarette case. Instead she raked a hand through her hair, pushing it from her face in irritation. There was something altogether less dramatic about standing before the first woman in her sodden nightie than the night she had intended. She pulled her coat tighter about her.

A slight frown furrowed Lilith's brow as she took in the witch before her, "I have a proposition for you." She paused, only continuing when Zelda's eyes met hers, "If all you want is a little closure, you happen to know a certain demon who's more than capable of playing the nervous school teacher again for the night."

"You can't be serious!?" Zelda balked, a laugh sounding deep in her throat.

"You'd find it terribly hard to kill the former Queen of Hell, Ms Spellman," She took a step forward, lowering her voice in challenge, "And I'd love to see you try."

As if to prove her point, Lilith's demeanour shifted suddenly; hand clutching the edges of her collar together, a meek smile curving her lips. She blinked rapidly before focusing wide eyes on Zelda, "Witches, all of them. Witches." She whimpered in Mary's tremulous tone.

She was the very picture of the woman who had stood on the Spellman porch those months before, gun cocked. Zelda let out a guttural growl, not questioning how the demon knew Mary's exact wording. Perhaps this was just what she needed after all.

"Deal." She nodded shortly and stroad the few paces between them with haste.

A heel wedged in the mud in the process. She left it behind, stopping only when the woman's breath beat warm against her cheek in stark contrast to the rain's chill. Their gazes met as lightning cut through the sky, quickly followed by the rumble of thunder.

"Mary Wardell," Zelda's voice was thick with vitriol, "Scared of witches are we? Strange, considering the deal your ancestors made with the Dark Lord that allows you to stand here today. Or are you foolish enough to believe dear old Sarah Wardwell survived 8 pregnancies without intervention?" Her finger traced the sharp curve of the brunette's cheekbone and she smirked at the slight shiver the action elicited.

"Samuel Wardwell made no such deal. He was coerced." The woman's voice shook, weakening the attempt at assertion, "Tricked into a false confession."

"Now we both know that isn't true. Don't we? But it wasn't witches who had him hanged for it. But it was witches who made sure it was quick. Spellmans."

The storm pressed close and, with it, Zelda's scar throbed. Her hand was around the woman's neck in an instant, forcing her chin towards the umbrella's underside. Her pulse rippled delightfully fast beneath her grip. There was something about this that needed to be physical, _mortal._

"You see, there's almost nothing more agonising than a slow death. To hang on the precipice before crossing over." Lightning struck a nearby tree, casting splinters across the sky, "But you made sure I'd know all about that, didn't you Mary?"

Her fingers tightened at the memory of her own near-death. She had felt every second stretch into an eternity, been acutely aware of each cell death as Marie fought to keep her stable. Heart frantic, lungs clawing for breath, brain starving.

Her heart was frantic now, beating wildly in her chest as her blood pressure increased. Madame Butterfly bellowed loud from the car's speakers once more, an unseen force setting off the stereo.

"There's more out there than you dare imagine, Miss Wardwell. Things I could do that would have you _begging_ for a slow death." The postbox tore from the front of the drive, exploding against the cottage's protection spell, "My coven is under Hecate's protection. _My_ protection, and should you _ever_ step foot on coven land again, I'll be sure to let you experience every horror one by one."

Tears fell to mingle with the rain upon her cheeks. She ignored them, raising the woman in her grip by the neck, her stilettos dangling an inch from the grass. The umbrella slipped from her grasp.

"And when finally the Keres comes to feast upon your soul," The fence began to creak, rocking back and forth dangerously in an attempt to free itself from the soil, "you'll think it a blessing."

"Zelda," The pretense fell and it was Lilith she held aloft, Mary quickly forgotten as she fought for air.

"She tried to kill me, Lilith," Zelda rawred, voice cracking and she gripped the demon's throat with a new urgency, "And you brought her back."

At the next flash of lightning, Zelda was torn from the lawn, an invisible force jerking her skyward. She flew backwards, crashing to the ground before the treeline. Thunder bellowed directly above them, pealing through the air in the electricity's wake.

"I think that's quite enough," Lilith rubbed at her throat, voice raw as she crossed the lawn towards where Zelda knelt. She extended a hand towards the witch, "Don't you?"

Between her fingertips was a single cigarette.

Still trembling with the fury that had built, Zelda shook her head in apology, searching for the words, "Lilith, I-"

She was silenced by the snap of Lilith's fingers lighting the cigarette. It was thrust towards her once more and she took it, drawing from it deeply.

"Feel better?" Lilith questioned, voice gaining it's familiar air of superiority, though a husky gravel still coloured it.

"Much." She breathed reticently, rescinding all signs of her display of emotion, "And Lilith, I _am_ sorry." She wasn't speaking of her actions tonight. They both knew that.

Giving only a curt nod in response, the demon departed in a mass of flames, leaving the witch alone, bedraggled, in the diminishing storm.

The aria drew to it's finish and Zelda stubbed out the butt of her cigarette against her remaining shoe before righting herself. Her scar still throbbed, but her mind pained less. Maybe she'd stop in at the gas station on the way home afterall.

* * *

Saturdays were the one day of the week Mary permitted herself a lie-in. This Saturday was no exception and she had remained enwrapped in the comfort of her duvet long after sunrise, luxuriating in the joy of a peaceful night's sleep.

Until recently, Mary had been a terribly light sleeper, starting at every creak the old house made, but something had changed during the time she couldn't account for. Though she was now often plagued with night terrors, there were nights, few and far between, when she slept more deeply and soundly than she ever had, feeling the protective eye of someone watching over her. On those nights, she dreamt only of herself, or the self she hoped to become; confident, unapologetic, and more comfortable in her own skin than she dared believe.

Bowing her head low, she thanked God for the gift of her nighttime protector, as she did every time her dream-self visited.

When finally she rose, the sun shone brilliantly through her drapes and the idea of a midmorning stroll through the nearby woods sounded heavenly. She dressed, pausing only momentarily as her fingers ghosted over a jacket reminiscent of the her she had dreamed of. Maybe one day.

Shrugging into a more subdued mac, she unbolted the door drinking in the warmth of the sun against her skin. It's effects were soon negated by the sight before her. The remnants of her postbox lay fragmented at her feet, her lawn a sprawling battlefield of muddy trenches, picket fence half wrenched from the ground and, in the middle of it all, an umbrella and a single stiletto embedded in the soil.

She stood open mouthed for a moment, taking in the scene before pursing her lips with certainty, a single word escaping them, "Witches."

**Author's Note:**

> After adopting Hecate as their new deity, I'd like to think Zelda would have read up on everything surrounding her in order to shape the church so I've added a few gods/figures from ancient Greek mythology too.
> 
> I've also referenced Samuel Wardwell; Mary's namesake in the show. I don't know if they'd intended it just to be a nod to the witch trials but his story is fascinating and the idea of him as Mary's ancestor really informs her wariness of witches for me. If anyone's interested, here's a link to more info about him: https://historyofmassachusetts.org/samuel-wardwell-salem/
> 
> And, as always, here's the link for the music Zelda listens to. It's Un Bel Di Vedremo from Madame Butterfly: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tmfw17L_Deo
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and all comments are cherished ❤


End file.
